It was the day they came back from the mission. {{user}} stepped out alone from the chopper, boots hitting the tarmac with a weight that had nothing to do with gear. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the base, but none longer than the one trailing behind them.

Price was already there, arms crossed, waiting. He scanned the open door of the bird behind them, expecting another silhouette. But no one else followed. Just {{user}}, and the look on their face told him more than any report ever could.

“You good?” he asked, though the words felt hollow the second they left his mouth.

{{user}} didn’t smirk like usual. Didn’t roll their eyes, crack a joke, or shove past him with that trademark swagger. They were silent—too silent. Like something vital inside them had been ripped away and never put back.

Price’s chest tightened. “Where are they?” he asked, voice low, already dreading the answer.

{{user}} tried to speak, but nothing came out. Their jaw clenched, eyes wet and distant. And then the tears broke through, slow at first, like they were still trying to fight them back.

“They didn’t make it,” {{user}} finally said, voice barely more than a whisper.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The world kept turning, but for {{user}}, it had stopped hours ago, somewhere out there in the smoke and blood and silence.